


A Change In Wording

by ARadioHostNamedPidgeon



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Developing Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Fluff, I Will Go Down With This Ship, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Light Angst, M/M, Post-Episode: s02e03 The Reichenbach Fall, Post-Season/Series 02
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2020-07-19
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:02:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25387234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ARadioHostNamedPidgeon/pseuds/ARadioHostNamedPidgeon
Summary: John told Sherlock he loved him at a rather inconvenient time: Sherlock was playing dead on the pavement of Bart's.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 6
Kudos: 58





	A Change In Wording

Unfortunately, the moment Sherlock realized John loved him back was the only time where he couldn’t respond.  
As he was acting the dead body on the cold payment, EMTs rushing in, Sherlock braced himself for what he knew was coming. John, the person who had brought light back into his life, had livened up his days, had made life worth living, was running up to see him. Brown oxfords kicking as the EMTs hold their wearer back, Sherlock fights to stay still as he hears the words that shatter his own heart, breaking down the little protection it still had left.  
“Please let me through- he’s my- I LOVE HIM!”  
“Sir, sir, please calm down, you’re in shock, we’re taking care of it. We know this is hard-”  
“THE LOVE OF MY LIFE IS DEAD!”  
“Sir, please…”  
The world blurs out as Sherlock reels. John. Beautiful, kind, fascinating, strong John loves him. And he is dead in John’s eyes.

Those last words he hears from John are all that carry him through the next two years.

John has, supposedly, moved on. Across the table from him is the most ordinary woman Sherlock couldn’t imagine, smiling at John, his blogger, his friend, his love. His heart picks up, pounding in his ears. His back stings, his head throbs, and his heart aches as he freezes.  
“Er… sir?” the woman is looking at him, concerned.  
“Sir, are you alright?” John, wonderful John is looking at him with worry in his eyes.  
“John-” his voice breaks and he rejects the concept of the disguise.  
“What the hell- how do you know my name?”  
“I heard you, John. I-”  
John’s eyes squint and the woman leans forward.  
“I’m sorry, who are you?”  
Sherlock turns to face her, hand wiping off his fake moustache, voice quaking as he stares her down. “He went for average, the most average, calm, stable, woman-”  
“Excuse you!”  
“Of course he went for a woman.”  
“Well of course I did!” John stands up, ears tinted red. “Who are you?”  
Sherlock swallows, removing his glasses and ruffling his hair out, silent.

“Sherlock.”  
The woman looks up in shock, “you’re- you’re Sherlock.”  
It’s coming any second now, and all Sherlock can manage is to repeat in a voice soft as a mouse, “I heard you, John.”  
John gulps, and the woman stands up too. “John, what’s he going on about?” John, wonderful John turns to her, “Mary… I- I told him… no, fuck, I can’t do this here, not here, not now.”

Her name is Mary. She’s saying something about going somewhere else, somewhere quieter, but Sherlock can barely hear her. John taps on his shoulder, and the touch shivers through his whole body.  
“Sherlock… Sherlock, we should go somewhere else.”  
He nods, turning on his heel and hurrying outside, not caring about the stares of the other diners. John is following, he knows, and Mary is too. He can hear her heels clacking- too loud, too close, too- wrong.  
John is next to him, dress shirt now crumpled. There’s a box in his pocket, and Sherlock’s world reels once again. He was going to propose. He was going to marry someone- someone that wasn’t him  
“Sherlock.” John’s voice is terse. “You have so much to explain.”  
“I know. John- I… I know.”  
Mary is hailing a cab, but Sherlock couldn’t care less. John, his John, was hurting and it was his fault.  
“I’m sorry.”  
Closing his eyes, John nods. “You bastard.”  
“I know.”  
“Boys?” Mary’s voice cuts through the moment. “Our ride is here.” They clamber into the small car, John squished between Mary and Sherlock. Mary requests an address in the suburbs- the suburbs? John moved to the suburbs without him.  
“Who’s at Baker Street?”  
John determinedly stares out the front window. “I haven’t been back since… since you fell.”  
“Oh.”

The cab ride simultaneously takes an eternity and is over in a second. The house is as ordinary as the life it seems John has adopted. Inside, the rooms are barren compared to 221B, devoid of memories, of a story but for a few photos of John and Mary. The sitting room strikes Sherlock as set up practically identical to the one back home - home, he thinks, where John should be. Without asking, Sherlocks takes what stands in for his chair, and John sits opposite him in a vicious mockery of how the world used to work for them both. Mary takes the couch as if she were a client- she is one in Sherlock’s mind, a stand-in for the intrigue, the adventure John once had.  
“So.” Mary clears her throat. “What- John, dear” Sherlock’s ears prick red with what he can only presume is jealousy. “What happened? What did he hear?”  
“John.” Sherlock adjusts his posture, trying to sit comfortably in the unfamiliar chair. “That day at Barts, I did what I did to save you.”  
John’s eyes widen, and he leans forward. “Why? What happened?”  
“Moriarty.” the name sits heavy in the air. “We met on the rooftop. We talked. He had snipers pointed at you, Mrs Hudson, and Lestrade. The only way I could avoid you being killed was to die myself. Now, I didn’t intend upon dying that day, so my options came to letting you and the others be killed or faking my death. Clearly, the preferable option was faking it. Once I was on the edge, there were several options including-”  
John interrupts him with a sharp cough, perhaps hiding a sob. “Tell me later, Sherlock. I can’t- not yet. Why didn’t you tell me?  
“I spent every second dismantling his network because if it had gotten out to them that I wasn’t dead, you wouldn’t be alive today.”  
“You didn’t trust me?”  
Sherlock winces at the words, “I did. Others didn’t.”  
John droops, searching for words. Looking back and forth between them, Mary asks, “er… can someone fill me in on what I’m missing?” Sherlock forces back a glare, anger rising at the wedge that sat between him and John. John takes a shaky breath, swallowing back what Sherlock knows are the tears welling up behind his eyes.  
“Moriarty was… the most dangerous man that we knew of. He was brilliant, the consulting criminal to Sherlock’s consulting detective. What I said when I saw Sherlock’s- well, clearly not corpse-” he looks at Sherlock for conformation.  
“Me, squeeze ball under my arm to stop the pulse and a pellet of blood.”  
“When I saw what I thought was Sherlock’s corpse, I rushed to try and save him. The EMTs stopped me. I said- I said…” He’s about to cry, and Mary can see it too now.

“I finally said I loved him. I thought I was too late, that the love of my life was dead.” Tears begin to roll down his cheeks, and Sherlock wants more than anything to hold him close, to tell him everything will be alright, that he’s never going to go where John can’t follow. But Mary, horrid Mary is in his place, an arm around John protectively. Sherlock’s hands clench as he faces her. She smiles sadly back at him, then turns to John.  
“Mary-” he starts. “I swear I truly love you, but…”  
“I’m not him.” she finishes, beginning to tear up as well, “and I could never be. John, oh John…”  
“I’m sorry, Mary, I should have been honest-”  
“You thought he was dead, you didn’t have to be!” she’s crying into his shoulder, and Sherlock sits frozen in the chair. John is holding Mary, Mary is the one hugging John, John and Mary, Mary and John- Sherlock’s mind picks up speed- John loves Mary, Mary loves John, John loved him and does John still love him? He doesn’t know. His distress is showing now, jaw tight and eyes focused down and Mary is crying and John is looking at him with his wonderful eyes and  
“John, I need to- I have to tell you-”  
“No- Sherlock, not here- not here, not now… please.” John’s voice is desperate as he holds Mary, who is wiping away her tears. “You love him too, don’t you.” she pulls away, too tired to be hostile. “You and him… go be happy.” she tries for a sad smile. “John…”  
“I know.” he nods, before kissing her cheek. “You be happy too, okay?” She nods, and John turns to Sherlock, and the tiniest of smiles twitches at the corner of his mouth. “I missed you.”  
“I missed you too.” he returns the smile, offering a hand. “Angelo’s?”  
“Starving.” John gives Mary one last sad smile. “I’m sorry for wasting your time.”  
She shakes her head, tearfully laughing. “It was good. It… something tells me we wouldn’t have lasted, but it was good.” John nods, sighing, “Yeah. Yeah, um… I’ll stop by tomorrow and…” he gestures around to the few belongings there are in Mary’s house. She nods, waving as they turn out to leave.

As they stand on the curb waiting for a cab, John looks down at their carefully intertwined hands, not saying anything. One soon stops for them, and Sherlock gives the address. They climb in, and Sherlock resolutely holds onto John’s hand. The cab driver gives them a knowing grin as they begin the drive.  
“So? How did you do it?” John smirks as Sherlock perks up, eager to share. The cab ride passes in record time as Sherlock happily explains the plan, with occasional snarky remarks from John.  
It’s started to rain when they reach Angelo’s, and the duo quickly hurry inside. Angelo absentmindedly begins to greet them at the sound of the bell, turning around. He catches sight of Sherlock and his eyes widen,  
“SHERLOCK!” his voice rings through the small restaurant.  
“Don’t announce it to every-” he’s cut off by an enthusiastic hug.  
“We always believed in you! Sit, sit, whatever you two want, on the house.” he pushes them both to their usual table. As John and Sherlock fall into their seats, Angelo turns to the kitchen. With a wink, he says, “right back with your waters and a candle.” John’s ears turn decidedly pink, but he finally doesn’t protest, a fact that does not fly over Sherlock’s head.  
When their food is brought out- prompt as ever- John starts to eat before pausing when he hears Sherlock’s stomach growl. “When was the last time you ate, Sherlock?”  
He pauses spreading butter on his roll to think, “the plane from Serbia to London.”  
“Why were you in Serbia of all places?”  
His voice quiets with the memories of where he was 24 hours ago- broken, bleeding, but almost victorious after two years of the worst pain of his life. “Finishing what had to be done to end his network.”  
John knows something’s wrong, medically trained brain piecing together the evidence of what happened to Sherlock. He can’t know it all yet, Sherlock is hiding it well. Musings are cut short, however, when John hands him a fork. “Eat. You’re starving.” Sherlock obliges, relishing the long-missed taste of his favourite order. They sit in familiar silence, each practically devouring their food. Angelo stops by, and John requests cheesecake for them both. When it arrives, Sherlock stares at it, taking in every last detail about the cake.  
“Are we deducing our dessert, then?” John smirks over the flickering candle at him.  
“What? Oh- no, just taking in the sight. Suppose I’m looking at the wrong thing though if I’m looking for beauty.” he says it without thinking and internally kicks himself the second he finishes, bracing himself for what he can only imagine will be an angry response. Shockingly to Sherlock, John simply blinks in surprise, cheeks tinted red.  
“I’d say take me to dinner first, but here we are.”  
Sherlock snorts in amusement, rolling his eyes. “Not refusing the candle this time, hm?”  
Defensive, John retorts “I just broke up with my girlfriend, let me have my bit of romance.” Sherlock takes a well-timed bite of cheesecake and only grins back. John huffs, resigning himself to his own dessert.  
“Has Mrs Hudson been notified?” John queries once they’ve both finished eating.  
Sherlock shakes his head, “Shall we make our return?”  
“I believe we shall.” John proffers his hand, Sherlock gladly taking it as they turn to leave, Sherlock leaving an “accidental” tip.  
Hand in hand, they make their way back to 221B. When they reach the doorstep, Sherlock runs his gloved fingers over the brass numbers and John takes a shuddering sigh. “Brace yourself.”  
Sherlock snorts, grinning in amusement, then briskly knocks on the door.  
“Coming!” Mrs Hudson’s footsteps approach, and John and Sherlock share a (slightly fearful) grin. The door swings open to reveal Mrs Hudson, talking to herself.  
“Ah, if you’re here for-” her eyes widen in shock, and she freezes in place.  
“Hello, Mrs Hudson.” Sherlock grins, and John shoots him a reprimanding look.  
She lets out an ear-piercing scream before grabbing Sherlock in a tight hug.  
“SHERLOCK! WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?!”  
“Not dead, clearly.”  
Mrs Hudson bursts into tears, clutching him close. “You will never scare us like that again or so help you-”  
John comfortingly pats her shoulder as she cries.  
“Sherlock- you’re like a son… NEVER DO THAT AGAIN!” Her shock shifting to anger, Sherlock backs up, hands up in a gesture of peace. She huffs, hugging him again before turning to John.  
“And John, oh, John…” she sighs, before hugging him as well.  
“I’m sorry, Mrs Hudson.”  
“Hmph.” she looks up at him before tearing up again. “I missed you both! You, young man, are not allowed to vanish like that either.”  
“Yes, Mrs Hudson.” he gives her his best apologetic grin. She wipes her tears as John and Sherlock retreat slightly, Sherlock fiddling with his gloves.  
“Well? What happened?!” With a sigh, Sherlock informs her that he “will explain later when the information is deemed fit to be released from security.”  
John snorts, “Mycroft would be proud of your care for government secrets.”  
“Well, I’m sure you’ve figured out that he was markedly important in my disappearance and today’s reappearance.”  
“You still have a lot to answer for.” stare becoming icy, John locks eyes with Sherlock who soon glances away, head down.  
“I know, John. I promise I will explain.”  
“You better.” John marches inside, Sherlock on his heels, leaving a confused and slightly bewildered Mrs Hudson outside.

Sherlock unwinds his scarf to hang on the wall, coat promptly following. Noticing the tension in his movements, John raises an eyebrow but doesn’t say anything.  
“It’s late.”  
“Brilliant, Sherlock.”  
Sherlock huffs, climbing the stairs. “Well, come on?”  
“Give me a second.” taking a moment to look around, John takes a deep breath of the familiar scent- the scent of home. Following Sherlock upstairs, he finds him tracing his fingers over the door handle in hesitation.  
“Everything alright.”  
“Yes, it’s just… I’ve missed it.”  
“So have I.” Stepping up, John places his hand over Sherlock’s and they open the door together. 221B is impeccably clean (as only Mrs Hudson would keep it). They slowly enter the room, relishing the comforting familiarity. John makes his way to his chair, sitting down heavily. Sherlock follows suit, cross legged atop his. He goes to stretch, but the sharp pain it causes prompts the tiniest of winces. However, it's enough to prompt John to lean forward in concern.  
“Sherlock, what’s happened to your back?”  
“Nothing.” the answer comes all too quick, and they both know it.  
“Sherlock, what’s happened?”  
“Nothing, John.”  
“Right, let me see.” John stands up, arms folded.  
“Nothing’s wrong, John.”  
“You realize I don’t believe you?”  
Sherlock pouts, springing up and stepping over the side of his chair before stalking off to his bedroom and slamming the door. With a heavy sigh, John follows. “Sherlock, you are going to open that door and tell me what’s happened or so help you.”  
Silence but for the rustle of fabric.  
“Sherlock. You’re acting a fool of yourself.”  
Still nothing.  
“I will open this door.”  
The sound of Sherlock flopping down on his bed.  
“I’m giving you ten seconds.”  
“Fine!” his voice is muffled through the door that John shoulders open, only to stop in horror. Sherlock’s back is covered in bandages that blood has begun to soak through, shirt on the bed next to where he lays, face down and buried in pillows.  
“Jesus fucking Christ, Sherlock- what in the hell happened?” With the flick of an internal switch, John’s medical training kicks in. He hurries for the first aid kit in the cupboard, dashing back. Beneath the bandages is a spread of scabs and stitches; bloody wounds, bruises, and burns in various states of healing. With steady hands, John replaces the dressings and bandages, before sitting heavily at the foot of the bed as emotions kick in. Voice cracking, he asks the question begging to be answered.  
“Why- who did this to you?”  
Sherlock peeks out through the pillows, eyes sad as he manages to sit up after a beat.  
“While I was- away… I got into a rather sticky situation dismantling Moriarty’s network. I was in Serbia when they-” his voice catches and goes quiet. “I was found out. They took me hostage. I got out two days ago, removed the last of them yesterday. John- as soon as I could, I came back, I-” he’s desperate now, holding back the burning that signifies tears to come.  
“I know, Sherlock, I know.” With a melancholy, aching glance, he offers an arm. Sherlock blinks in confusion.  
“Hug, Sherlock.”  
“Oh, er-” he awkwardly scoots over, tentatively leaning into John’s side. They sit for a while, wind picking up outside the window.  
“Am I really?” Sherlock asks suddenly.  
“Are you what?  
“The, um… the… the love-” his breath hitches on the word, and he finishes in a whisper, “the love of your life?”  
The silence is agonizing for them both, before John answers.  
“Who else could ever be?”  
“John?” Sherlock looks over, chewing on his lip. “I need to tell you something.”  
“Yeah?”  
“I love you.” the long-awaited tears well up in his eyes, something John can’t help but notice.  
“I love you too, Sherlock. I have for the longest time. I fell in love with you and I only realized it when I thought you were gone. I thought I’d missed my chance, Sherlock. I thought-” he takes a ragged breath, but finishes. “I thought that there was no way you could ever return that love. And here you are, and I’m too scared to believe it.”  
“I promise I’m here… I- I will always, always be here now. I should have figured it out sooner, John, I could have-” he’s cut off by the kiss John gives him, arm wrapped around him. With a tiny gasp, Sherlock starts to cry into John’s shirt, both arms now around him. Whispering over and over, he repeats the words he’s wanted to say for years.  
“I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I-”  
“Shh, Sherlock, it’s okay, it’s all okay.” steadily rocking back and forth, John holds Sherlock close. “Oh love, it’s all going to be okay.”  
As rain starts to fall outside and the wind howls, they both curl up together and drift off, feeling at home and at peace for the first time in two years.


End file.
